


journée noire dans le détroit

by Kleenexwoman



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Detroit, Gen, Period-Typical Racism, Poetry, Prose Poem, Racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/pseuds/Kleenexwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why is there no epic 1960s Detroit Riots Les Mis AU yet? I don't understand why nobody's made that as a movie. Can be students-focused, but I'd love it if it was an even mix of Valjean's story and the students and how they intertwine, like in the brick." --pinglederry's prompt. </p><p>10/2013: WIP ON HOLD. I do intend to finish this someday, but I'm not actively working on it at the moment and don't know when I will be able to put more work into it. Thanks to those who read and enjoyed what there is of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinglederry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinglederry/gifts).



> With thanks to Writer L. Bush for stylistic inspiration and a chance to shine.

Look. Here's John.   
Sixteen, no mama,   
big sis with seven kids and no man.   
She tell him,   
"Stay in school"   
(mind that's weak)   
"Work real hard"   
(back that's strong)   
"Don't you go messing with no loose women"   
(seven kids and one more on the way)   
So he listen. And he work.   
And he ain't got no girl,   
he scraping together pennies   
for those seven kids   
(one more on the way)   
And what does it get him? 

One day, he's in Palmer Park,   
pulling weeds, pruning trees, raking leaves,   
leaves cash in his pocket, green as grass,   
and he looks up and there's a dark cloud.   
Black as sin, thick as thieves,   
hanging over Detroit,   
bright red underbelly,   
red of fire,   
red of blood.   
Boy thinks it's the end times,   
war and death come to claim all the sinners. 

Quittin' time and nobody tells him no,   
rushing out through the seething streets,   
full of flesh and flames, anger and rage.   
Brothers fighting, brothers looting,   
brothers singing, brothers screaming.   
Everything ever locked up,   
away from the grasp of poor brown hands,   
is now open and free for the taking.   
Diamond necklaces, bottles of cognac, color TVs.   
But John don't pay attention.   
Diamond necklaces don't feed no kids,   
bottles of cognac don't clothe no kids,   
color TVs don't love no kids. 

But Glory Market's wide open,   
piles of greens and potatoes,   
cans of beans and tomatoes.   
John thinks of seven kids and seven mouths.   
Grabs a loaf of Wonderbread,   
make that two, make that three,   
a jar of Jif, one of Smucker's,   
and a jug of juice for good measure.   
Heads out towards the checkout,   
strolls through the empty lanes,   
laughing to himself a little... 

Stops short. Rifle in his face.   
Boy in blue, barely older than John,   
shiny badge and bright rifle,   
hands shaking, lips tight.   
"Drop the bread, son,   
and nobody gets hurt." 

Let's take a second to think of this boy.   
Javert got his mama in jail, his daddy too,   
raised by an auntie who handled snakes and did hoodoo,   
rooking folks poorer than she was.   
Javert learns the way to survive is to steal, cheat,   
and he wants none of it.   
Join the force!   
Bright shiny badge,   
bright pressed blues,   
bright shiny rifle.   
Real respectable living.   
First day on the force and the city explodes,   
and what kind of sorry ass motherfucker   
needs to loot a grocery store?   
Well, look:   
Here's John. 

Look, here's John,   
hauled up before the judge,   
just some blood and bones pulled out of Detroit's rubble.   
John's scared just like the white folks scared.   
Judge says, "This young man is an example   
of the degeneracy of youth today   
Let's give him five. No, ten. That'll show   
them uppity bucks   
what you get   
when you take what you can't have." 

Five years,   
ten years.   
A mind that's weak.   
A back that's strong.   
John's sister and her babies   
might as well be gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's John. Ten years gone,   
and the four corners of his cell   
are the four corners of the earth.   
Kicked out blinking in the sunlight,   
the grey and brown light of a Detroit fall.   
Thinking he'll go back to where he was.   
Back to the projects. Get that job raking leaves.   
But the ghettos are dead,   
the projects are dead,   
the city is dead.   
All around he sees brothers out of work,   
brothers with hard faces and lines on their arms,   
sisters walking the streets,   
sisters with hard hearts and dead babies,   
children with no schools,   
children with guns and no childhood.   
And if nobody's hiring brown faces,   
nobody's hiring no brown ex-cons   
with no work history and no skills   
since they got sent to prison at sixteen. 

John will do anything, he swears,   
but there's nothing, and it's getting colder,   
and Detroit in the winter is cold.   
All the faces he sees are cold.   
All the hearts are cold.   
So he goes back to Palmer Park,   
covers himself with the dead leaves,   
wanting to sink down into the ground and decay,   
wanting to be warm in death and decay. 

And here comes the Bishop.   
Got that title from the men and women of the streets,   
the ones he feeds,   
the ones he clothes,   
the ones he goes knocking on doors for.   
Ordained in the heart,   
washed in the blood,   
cleansed in the spirit.   
A brother with dignity, you dig me?   
Telling his sister,   
"I'm going to the park   
to feed the birds,   
so give me some bread"   
(Going down to Palmer Park   
to feed the bums   
so give me some bread)   
even though it's full of junkies,   
even though he gonna get shot,   
gonna get mugged,   
and here's John. 

John's only spent a month on the streets,   
and he already knows:   
Crime pays   
because honest work don't.   
John won't push dope, won't pimp out hoes,   
but what kind of sorry ass motherfucker   
goes to feed the ducks in Palmer Park?   
John gets up from his dead leaves,   
the dirt and cold of the dead ground.   
Sticks his hand in his pocket,   
hands shaking with the cold,   
with the fright.   
Says, "Gimme your money, son,   
and nobody gets hurt." 

Bishop, he raise his hands,   
widen his eyes,   
take his wallet real slow from his pocket.   
"You call me son, but we all brothers, brother." 

"Ain't nobody my brother," says John,   
"and I ain't nobody's brother no more."   
John's sister and her babies   
might as well be gone.   
John's got no love in his eyes,   
no light in his heart,   
just a space in his stomach. 

Hoping the old man looks at him with fear,   
because fear's all that gets you anything,   
fear's what gets you respected.   
But there's only pity,   
like the old man's cutting through his skin,   
cutting through his soul.   
"Son, you must be desperate   
stickin' your hand in your pocket   
and pretending it's a gun.   
Times are hard, I know." 

From son to brother.   
From brother to son.   
John can't take it   
and the brother breaks down.   
"Times are hard. I'm scared.   
I don't know what to do.   
You got more money than me,   
but I got more time left than you,   
and that time's going to be full of cold,   
full of misery. I'll grow old,   
nothing left in me." 

"You fill up that empty space,"   
says the Bishop,   
"with the emptiness of others.   
Feed your sister,   
pay your brother,   
love your little ones.   
Come back with me.   
There's soup, and a cot,   
and we'll get you on your feet." 

Some soup, and a cot,   
and an offer of help.   
One drop don't make a dent in the ocean.   
But one drop means the world   
to a thirsty man.   
The Bishop is doing   
all he can.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content note: drops the n-bomb.

Time's wheels grind on   
like an assembly line.   
Days shake into months,   
and months into years.   
The auto factories slow and stop.   
The streets decay,   
the houses rot. 

Look, here's John,   
scraping out his living the best he can,   
which is pretty damn good--  
the brother worked up, saved up, thought up,   
now he's got a workshop,   
a T-shirt factory   
over in Hazel Park.   
Little brick boxes,   
growing and growing,   
rows of workers,   
dyeing and sewing,   
and nobody knowing   
that their boss did ten years hard time back in the day. 

Here's Fantine. Sweet Fantine,   
and everybody know,   
Fantine's kind of a ho.   
It's not her fault. This poor girl thought   
a rich white boy from the suburbs,   
destined for law school, groomed for society,   
could really love her.   
But as soon as she gave him little Cosette,   
with her momma's dark hair and her daddy's blue eyes,   
the boy up and split. Now Fantine's in it.   
Nineteen years old and she can't afford a child,   
had to give up Cosette--but just for a little while--  
But now everybody know she easy. 

One day John come into work,   
and Fantine's gone. Nobody know where.   
Not the girls on the line with the weaves in their hair,   
they shake their heads   
because the foreman said   
they tell John that Fantine got canned because she wouldn't put out   
they out too. And in this economy,   
you ain't taking chances.   
Everybody got things they need.   
Everybody got a baby at home to feed. 

The year gets cold,   
always gives John chills in his bones.   
One day he driving down into the city   
and he see Fantine strutting it on Six Mile.   
I say strutting, more like shaking, more like shivering,   
girl's chilled to the bones too,   
still working it   
'cause there's nothing else she can do. 

He pull up, and she come over.   
"Hey baby. You want some company tonight?   
The streets are cold, but I'm hot,   
and I'll treat you right."   
Hot words coming out of cold lips,   
warm heart and sad eyes,   
tears could freeze on her cheeks   
if she could still cry. 

"This where you go? Why'd you quit? I didn't know.   
T-shirts too hard for you? Too boring? You gotta peddle your ass?   
Fantine, we both know you're better than this.   
Girl, get in the car,   
I'll give you a meal, I'll give you a coat,   
I'll give you your job back and a raise." 

Fantine curl her lip like she hard.   
"Fuck you and your shiny fuckin' car.   
You don't care about me,   
nobody care about me,   
Mr. Boss Man, you just looking for a freebie,   
just like every other man. No fuckin' way."   
John gets out of the car.   
Brother know charity,   
but don't know gentleness,   
and he grabs her arm.   
Fantine spit in his face,   
claw at his eyes,   
but he don't care,   
got worse in prison.   
Gonna do right by this girl   
if it kills him...

And that's when the red and blue lights start to flash,   
siren screams, whoops to a stop,   
Guess who it is? Detroit's finest cop.   
Officer Javert, twenty years on the force.   
Sees a big man and a streetwalker having it out,   
ain't nothing he ain't seen before,   
the both of them breaking the law.   
Javert, he think he know what goes down,   
probably drugs involved. Niggers always got drugs.   
And when Javert say "nigger," he don't say "nigga,"   
he don't say "We all in this together,   
we all come over on the same boats,   
we all live in the same ghettos,   
we all niggas." He say "nigger" like white folks say "nigger,"   
like he ain't included,   
like he think he better.   
Javert know there's upstanding black folks and niggers,   
guess which one he is? Guess which one he spent twenty years   
burning out of himself? Guess which one he spenty twenty years   
refusing to give a shit about?   
The word "brother"   
is not in this brother's vocabulary. 

John try to reason with him.   
Don't want to get tasered, don't want to get pepper-sprayed.   
"Look, officer, I'm a businessman,   
I'm just trying to help my sister here."   
"I know what kind of help you give,"   
Fantine spits. "You don't give no help,   
and I ain't your sister. Officer, listen to me,   
this asshole come up to me and proposition me,   
I got a baby at home, trying to make ends meet,   
I just want to get off the street,   
this brother trying to drag me down.   
You gotta arrest this goddamn motherfucker." 

Javert play it cool.   
"We all cool. We gonna take a little ride downtown,   
we gonna hear your story,   
we sort this all out.   
We don't want no violence,   
we don't want no scene." 

John and Fantine sitting in a squad car,   
sitting in the station,   
handcuffs and cell walls,   
trusting in the law.   
Javert runs their IDs,   
and what do you know?   
Fantine clean, but John,   
this motherfucker broke his parole.   
Oh, Javert's singing inside.   
Get a chance to show first-time Fantine   
that ho-in' don't pay,   
and John, oh John,   
he's going to put this criminal away.


End file.
